It's a Girl Thing Read Online Free PDF Page B

past-their-sell-by-date scallops—her luck was bound to run dry one day), I thought that life could not grow any more bleak.
    I was wrong.
    First, no Astlebury and no Astlebury snogging, then no Jimi and definitely no Jimi snogging, then no garden party and no sexy post-party disco snogging?! What have the grown-ups got up their sleeves next? No talking to boys full stop? Full Muslim burkas to be worn by all under-eighteens?
    The way these last two days have panned out, I’ll probably be still living, aged thirty-seven, with Loz and Magda, in a shoe-box at the Fantastic Voyage, my lips sealed together through un derusage, my boobs still untouched by human hands (aside from my own).
    This world certainly does not deserve a hug.
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    â€œSo, who else?” I say, burying my head in Fleur’s duvet.
    â€œMmm, let’s see,” says Claude, leafing through the back pages of a brand-new issue of New Musical Express.
    â€œRight,” she announces. “Bands newly confirmed for Astlebury Festival this week are, ahem, the Flaming Doozies—”
    â€œOh, I looove the Flaming Doozies! They’re the ones with the lead singer who sets fireworks off onstage,” I moan.
    â€œAnd the Long Walk Home have confirmed too,” reads Claude.
    â€œI’ve just bought their CD,” says Fleur mournfully, tweezing her eyebrows, with a large strip of cream bleach plastered across her top lip.
    Fleur is a bit like the Forth Road Bridge in Scotland: She’s under constant maintenance. There’s always a bit of Fleur that needs painting, waxing, tweezing or scrubbing. Just as Fleur finishes making one area gorgeous, another zone needs urgent preening.
    â€œAnd you’re not going to like this . . .” Claude winces. “Spike Saunders is now the headline act on Saturday night.”
    Fleur and I both let out angry yelps, like stabbed pigs. Or even: like totally depressed LBD members who’ve just discovered that the most handsome, sexiest, unbelievably talented and all-around amazing solo male singer in the entire history of world music is playing somewhere that they’ve been barred from. (Sorry, Jimi, for seeming disloyal here, you do give Spike Saunders a good run for his money, but he just pips you to the post.)
    â€œSpike, tell me it’s not true. Don’t do this without me,” Fleur pleads toward her Wall of Spike poster area, just behind her headboard.
    Spike smiles down a perfect-toothed grin at Fleur, as if to say, “Sorry, mate, you know I love the LBD, but the money for playing Astlebury is amazing. Don’t worry, though, I’ve heard that Walrus World, Penge, is very nice this time of year.”
    Fleur and I sit in silence for about ten minutes, staring into space, while Claude reads quietly, cuddling Larry into her bosom.
    â€œPrrrrrrrrrr prrrrrrrrrr prrrrrrrrr,” purrs Larry.
    â€œWell, I’m glad somebody is happy!” huffs Fleur.
    â€œOh, c’mon. Things aren’t that bad,” snaps Claude. “It’s nearly summer vacation,” she chirps.
    â€œSame miserable life, just hotter,” snaps back Fleur.
    We all sit in silence a bit longer. Eventually Fleur speaks.
    â€œSo, what excuse did your mother trump up to ban you from Astlebury?” she asks Claude.
    â€œMmm, well . . . I didn’t really ask in the end . . . ,” Claude mumbles.
    â€œYOU DIDN’T ASK!” Fleur and I shout, hurling assorted teddy bears and pillows in Claude’s direction.
    â€œThere was no point! Mum didn’t let my big sister, Mika, stay out all night till she was almost seventeen. You know what my mother is like. She likes us all at home, present and correct. She doesn’t even like pajama parties, in case some freak accident happens.”
    Claude isn’t exaggerating, her mum is really protective. I think it’s because there’s only the three of them.
    â€œOh, dar-link . . .” Fleur